


A Man Called PSYCH

by Casey_Tyler



Series: In Too Deep [1]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lassie Whump, Manipulation, Mind Games, Panic Attacks, Shawn Whump, Touch Aversion, Whumptober 2020, several minor character deaths, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Tyler/pseuds/Casey_Tyler
Summary: Carlton Lassiter is the top undercover agent for an international law enforcement agency. Shawn Spencer is the top consultant for an international criminal organization. A common goal unites the two enemies when they team up to exact revenge from a rogue operative known only as Psych.
Series: In Too Deep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978519
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Opening Moves

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Whumptober2020 writing challenge on tumblr. It's basically my attempt at trying to fit as many of the 31 prompts into one fic as possible.
> 
> This story is heavily influenced by the old spy shows of the 80's, in both tone and plot. If you've never watched those shows, you really should; they're pretty awesome. Anyway, if you notice familiar themes or concepts, that's why.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: I'll be posting individual warnings on each chapter, but here's a general warning that this fic is going to have a fair amount of violence, blood, injuries, and will touch on several sensitive topics - including mental health, grief, and trauma. Also, several minor characters get killed off (the first being in this first chapter).

_October, 2005_  
_Santa Barbara, California_  


The lamp cast a soothing yellow circle of light over the desk and surrounding area, leaving the edges of the room in deep shadow.

Leaning over the desk, studying the chessboard in front of him, the man felt completely at rest. And he hated it. Things had been too quiet lately. He craved activity — not the physical kind, but that special kind of mental stimulation that could excite and fascinate him in all the best ways. He needed a new puzzle.

Finger gliding down one of the smooth marble chess pieces, he admired the fine craftsmanship that went into carving it. It was beautiful. As was the rich, polished wood of the board. A very expensive set he'd had personally commissioned.

He continued meticulously arranging the pieces on his side of the board. The white pieces. He preferred playing white. Not because he couldn't win just as easily with black, but having the first move in the game gave him a sense of control, putting him in exactly the right mindset to engage in this favorite pastime.

Maybe that was what he really needed. Not a puzzle. A game.

He finally turned his attention away from the board to study the young man sitting across from him. Hunched down in the leather chair, looking more exhausted and pale than usual. Well, it had been a rough few months.

"I think it's time we started a new game," he announced to his companion. "It's been a while."

Tired hazel eyes came up to meet his, a tiny spark lighting them up for the first time in far too long.

The man smiled. Maybe they'd both been needing this.

He pushed one of his pawns forward. The piece slid smoothly over the polished wood surface, landing in its new square.

Smile widening, he leaned back in his chair and gestured at his opponent.

"Your move."

~~~~~

_November, 2005_  
_San Francisco, California_  


The metal door screeched faintly as it was pushed open. Two figures ducked inside, moving fast in case anyone had time to react to the noise of their entry.

No sound of gunfire met them inside.

Not that they would have expected any. Their opponent already let them clear the ground floor of the warehouse without interfering. He obviously wanted them to come upstairs to the offices where he was waiting. This was all a sick game to him. A game where losing would result in yet another innocent victim.

As the senior agent on this assignment, Carlton Lassiter took lead. His partner, Junior Agent Lucinda Barry, stayed close behind him, keeping an eye on their six.

The warehouse was empty and dark as they crept forward. Dust floated thickly in the few sunbeams that managed to peek through the grime-covered windows. The steady wind outside rattled the building, making enough noise to help cover their footsteps as they worked their way to the staircase.

Carlton placed his foot on the bottom step, easing his weight onto it slowly. So far, so good. No sign of booby-traps. Which didn't ease his mind at all. No traps here merely meant that their opponent was luring them deeper inside before trying to take them out. Or taking out the hostage he'd used to bring them here in the first place. It was impossible to predict this maniac's moves.

They were halfway up the first flight of stairs when Carlton saw the sensor near the floor. An electronic version of a tripwire... And he'd stepped right in its path.

He reacted instinctively. Ducking left, he swung himself over the railing and landed on the catwalk to their left. His gun came up a moment later and fired off two shots, hitting the security camera in the corner. His next shot took out the sensor on the stairs.

A brief moment of silence passed.

They were clear.

It was then that it hit him — he'd had no time to warn Lucinda of the trap before moving. Unless she saw him move and guessed what was going on, there was no chance she got out of the way in time.

Heart sinking into his stomach, Carlton jumped back onto the stairs. The wooden railing was cracked where she went over the side.

"Agent Barry?" he called into his radio, already running back down the stairs.

"I'm over here," came his partner's response, close enough that she didn't bother using the radio.

Carlton reached the bottom of the stairs and came around the bend to a small alcove, partially obscured by the catwalk overhead.

His partner was sprawled on the floor, hands pressed over a wound in her leg. Judging from the amount of blood and the angle of the wound, it was some kind of blade released when he tripped the sensor.

He was on his knees a second later, visually scanning her for other signs of injury as he moved her hands out of the way. Relief filled him as he pressed his own hands over the wound to stem the bleeding. It wasn't deep and hadn't hit anything vital. And, from what he could see, a few bruises were the extent of the damage from the fall. She'd been very lucky.

Not that that knowledge did anything to stop the guilt gnawing at his gut. He should have tried to signal his plan to her before moving. He should have warned her. Should have done _something_. Instead, he'd seen a chance and taken it.

And the worst part was that it was exactly what he was trained to do. In this line of work, you have to take chances where you see them and trust your partner to adapt as necessary. But Carlton knew he and Lucinda had issues in that area. As much as he cared about her, he knew they were often not on the same wavelength. It was one of the things that kept their relationship exciting. Only now it was the thing that had gotten her hurt.

"I've got it," Lucinda told him, gently pushing his hands away so she could take over applying pressure. "It's fine. I'm fine, Carlton."

He knew that. A week of light duty, and she'd be as good as new.

_But I let you get hurt._

"Carlton," her voice cut into his self-recrimination. "The hostage."

Right. The whole purpose for being here. He needed to focus. Needed to stop staring at the blood pooling around her leg. Needed to stop repeatedly cycling the mental image of her falling off that staircase.

"Carlton!"

Finally, he managed to drag his eyes up to meet hers. His breath caught slightly at the amount of understanding and determination in her expression.

"Hey, I'm fine," she repeated. "Go get that twisted psycho and save the hostage."

And she was right, as usual. There was a lot more at stake right now than their relationship — professional or otherwise.

"Alright," he said at last, checking his gun's ammo clip. "Check in with the backup team and let them know to be on standby. There's no telling what he has planned this time."

Lucinda nodded curtly, checking her own weapon as she scooted farther under the overhang. She might not be able to run with her leg in that condition, but she'd easily be able to hear someone coming before they got to her. It was a small consolation. And right now, that was what Carlton needed to be able to leave her here alone.

"I'll be back in twenty. If not, send in backup."

She smiled up at him, giving his hand a farewell squeeze. "Go get him, partner."

He squeezed her hand in return before standing. Not letting himself look back, he tightened his grip on his weapon and started up the stairs again.

Despite being only recently cleared for field duty, Lucinda Barry was a good agent. She knew how to handle herself in a crisis and how to keep a level head. That and the fact that they'd already cleared the bottom floor of hostiles should have been enough to keep him from worrying about her. And yet, he couldn't shake the anxiety coiling through him. Something was wrong with this scenario. He just didn't know what.

 _And this is exactly why relationships between agents are forbidden,_ he mentally berated himself. _Too easy to get emotionally compromised on a mission._

Forcing his attention back on the current situation, Carlton moved up the stairs much faster this time. He knew there wouldn't be any more traps on the staircase. Their opponent never used the same methods twice. It was pretty much the only consistent rule he had for these sick "games" of his.

The top floor of the building was even more bare than the main warehouse. Empty offices lined either side of the hallway, not even a desk left in any of them.

Carlton cleared each room as he worked his way down to the end of the hall. If they'd deciphered that last riddle correctly, the old manager's office should be where the hostage was being kept. He could only hope they were in time. The body count attributed to this monster was too high already. Carlton was sure they had the correct location, but there was one line of the riddle he hadn't understood — it didn't make sense in context of the hostage they were trying to save. It was a small detail to worry about, but he'd learned a long time ago not to ignore the small details when dealing with this man.

The end of the hallway came too soon. Grip tightening on his gun, Carlton braced himself for whatever he might find inside that office. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door in and charged inside.  
The room was empty.

No serial killer, no hostage, no sign of anyone. Not even any furniture. Only the dust and cobwebs that showed it hadn't been occupied in a very long time.

A single set of footprints in the dust led straight to the far wall and back out the door again. Carlton's eyes locked on that wall as his own feet froze in place.

Bright red letters scrawled across the dirty surface, mocking him as they stared back.

_SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY WHEN SHE BLEEDS -Y_

Ice settled into his stomach as realization hit.

They _had_ been wrong about the riddle. That line that had bothered him... it was never about the hostage.

Carlton's hand flew to his radio. "Agent Barry, report in."

A staticy burst crackled back at him.

He tried adjusting the frequency. "Agent Barry, I need your status _now_. This whole thing was a trap."

The static changed slightly in pitch, but no other response came back. The system was being jammed.

Flying down the stairs two at a time, Carlton gave up on the radio and shouted as loud as he could. "Lucinda! Get out of the building now!"

His feet hit the concrete floor with enough force to almost knock him off balance. Taking the barest moment to steady himself, Carlton continued his mad dash for that alcove where he'd last seen his partner.

A pair of familiar shoes poked out from around the bend. The utter lack of movement was enough to confirm his suspicions, but he wasn't ready to accept it yet.

Darting around the bend, Carlton came to a sudden halt at the sight in front of him.

_No._

"No, no, no," he muttered, dropping beside his partner.

Ignoring the feel of blood on his hands, he pulled her against him. Two fingers pressed desperately against her pulse point. The weak, stuttering pulse wasn't unexpected, but it only added to the panic buzzing through his head.  


"Please, Lucinda," he whispered, brain incapable of formulating any thoughts beyond that. _Please don't leave me._

The wheezing breaths slowed even as he was scrambling to retrieve his radio.

"This is Agent Lassiter." To his relief, the signal was no longer blocked. Their opponent had already completed his goal here. "I need backup in here immediately. Call for medical evac."

Whatever response came back through the radio went ignored as he continued to cling to the body in his arms. His eyes landed on the wound in her leg. The one that had prevented her escaping from her killer. The one _he'd_ caused.

The backup team and emergency response personnel were the best SBPD had to offer. They were expertly trained and were capable of adapting under the most unexpected complications. It was less than two minutes before they were swarming all over the building, securing the area and providing assistance where needed.

But they were still two minutes too late.

His partner was gone.

~~~~~

_Six months later_  
_May, 2006_  
_San Francisco, California - SBPD Headquarters_  


"Alright, people, listen up."

From his spot at the back of the room, Carlton smirked at the way the rookies in the room sprang to attention. Chief Karen Vick might be several months pregnant, but she could be more intimidating than any of their agency's worst interrogators.

After the recruits were situated in their seats, Vick cleared her throat and launched into her introduction speech. Carlton had heard it a million times and found himself automatically tuning it out as he shifted to lean against the wall. His eyes scanned over the small crowd instead, interested in the new blood. They looked young and inexperienced, both of which were technically true.

"Firstly, congratulations on passing your field assessment tests," Vick began, taking her spot at the front of the room. "You are all now Level Three operatives with a tentative clearance for field duty — with certain restrictions, of course. If you want to have those restrictions removed and become full-fledged members of this department, you will have to push yourselves a lot harder than you already have up to this point. If you thought the assessments were tough, you might want to back out now, because it's about to get a lot worse."

Carlton's scan of the room came to rest on a young blonde agent frantically scribbling into a notebook. Her eyes kept shooting up to watch Vick attentively before adding more notes.

She looked young and a bit too wholesome for this line of work. Like the rest of the group, her inexperience was painfully obvious to see. She also looked about as dangerous as a newborn kitten. It was the determined set of her jaw and the fire burning in her eyes that convinced Carlton she had a fair shot at making it through this next phase of training. He almost regretted the fact that he couldn't be the one to see her through that training.

"Every employee of the Security Bureau for the Protection and Disbursement of Classified Data — or SBPD — is expected to make certain sacrifices so they can contribute to our mission to the best of their ability," Vick continued.

"However, as members of the Covert Operations Division, you will be expected to go far above and beyond that. Your lives will be at risk every time you're sent into an undercover scenario. You might have to work without backup. You'll need to be quick at improvising and adapting. And you might not make it back safely from every mission. It's a sad reality, but one you have to accept if you want to work here. If you have any doubts, now is the time to think hard about your decision. It's not too late to switch to another of SBPD's divisions."

After taking a brief moment to let that sink in, Vick stepped out of the way of the large digital screen. The lights in the room dimmed to make it more visible as one of the techs turned on the screen. Carlton didn't bother watching it. He already knew it would be showing pictures, video footage, and charts to help illustrate Vick's points as she continued with the briefing. He'd seen it more times than he could count.

"SBPD's main objective is the gathering and protection of intel that could be useful to our sibling agencies. We work in cooperation with a lot of other intelligence organizations, but we also have our fair share of enemies. One of the ones you will encounter most frequently in the field is Vencom."

Carlton glanced only briefly at the picture on the screen of Vencom headquarters. On legal documents, they were a tech corporation. In reality, they were a constant thorn in Carlton's side. He'd worked both with and against Vencom operatives during his many years of service, and had an equal amount of respect and disdain for them. They were good at what they did. They were also completely ruthless.

"Working for Covert Operations, you will be forced into situations with Vencom more than anyone else at this agency. They are also an intelligence gathering organization, but they operate completely in the dark, and have no scruples regarding who they share that information with. While their intel has helped prevent a lot of disasters, it also helped cause more than a fair amount of other issues."

Vick crossed her arms, gaze hardening as she eyed some of the past mission reports being displayed on the screen. Carlton understood what she was feeling in that moment. They'd lost a lot of good agents to Vencom. Too many.

With a quiet sigh, she continued, "Sometimes you'll be asked to work with operatives from Vencom when we have joint operations. Other times, you may be working undercover to infiltrate and stop one of their missions. Either way, never let your guard down around these people."

The meeting continued for several more minutes, but Carlton stopped listening completely by that point. He was bored and restless. He wasn't even entirely sure why Vick had asked him to be here. A year ago, he would have known immediately what it meant. But things had changed, and his days working with the junior agents were over.

He shifted slightly, leaning a bit more against the wall as his leg threatened to fall asleep. The months of mandatory leave hadn't done anything good for his stamina. Maybe it was time to start hitting the gym again. He'd only been back on duty a couple months, and only cleared for field duty last week, but it couldn't hurt to get back into shape. Vick couldn't keep him chained to a desk forever.

"That's all," Vick wrapped up her speech. "You'll begin your final stage of training today, and then we'll be pairing you up with senior agents so you can get some field experience. Good luck."

The lights came back on and the crowd began to disperse. Carlton watched the young recruits filter slowly out of the meeting room. Most looked excited to finally be heading into the home stretch of their training program. Others looked freaked out. A select few had a healthy mix of both — they were the ones Carlton was willing to bet would actually make it through the final testing phase. He wasn't surprised to see the young blonde agent among that last group.

"Agent Lassiter," Vick greeted him politely.

He straightened automatically. Despite knowing the woman for many years, she would always have his respect as his superior officer.

"Chief," he greeted back. "You asked me to come up here this morning?"

"Let's use my office."

It was more of a command than a suggestion, but Carlton nodded his agreement anyway. He let her lead the way back to her office and took a seat in one of the chairs. It didn't escape his notice that Vick closed the blinds on the interior windows before sitting down at her desk. Whatever they were discussing, she didn't want the rest of the department watching them.

"How would you like a chance to get back into the field?" Vick asked as she pulled out a thick casefile. "Think you're ready?"

Carlton barely resisted the urge to respond to that with the level of sarcasm it deserved. _Ready?_ He'd been going absolutely stir crazy for months. Instead, he settled on the somewhat more restrained response, "I was cleared for duty last week, Chief. More than ready to tackle something other than paperwork."

"Good. We have an assignment right here on the West Coast for you. There's a young computer prodigy named Lisa Grant who is speaking at a conference this weekend. Ever heard of her?" At his headshake, she explained, "Miss Grant's father is the CEO of a software development company he started himself. Apparently, that talent runs in the family. Grant has recently developed a new type of program that will help the video game industry considerably."  
Carlton raised an eyebrow questioningly. "And why do we care about any of this?"

"Because, part of the code used in the program could also be used as the base for spy software. A more efficient means of hacking into encrypted data. And, if our tech team was able to figure that out, you can bet everyone else in the intelligence circuit has the done the same."

"Vencom," Carlton said. It wasn't a guess. He'd dealt with them enough to know they'd jump at this opportunity.

"Correct. We did a bit of digging and found out that Vencom is hiring an outside contractor to kidnap Grant at the conference."

"And my job is to stop that from happening?"

"It's actually a bit more complicated than that," Vick told him, passing the casefile to him. "As it happens, we picked up their contractor a couple months ago when he attempted to take down one of our own members. A man named Barrows, goes by the codename Badger. They'd already made the preliminary arrangements at that point, and he spilled the whole thing as a bargaining chip."

Vick leaned back in her chair, a soft frown settling over her features. It was a look Carlton recognized quite well. It was the look she got whenever she was being forced into a situation she didn't feel right about. Whatever this mission was, she had her reservations about it. And given his area of expertise here at the agency, Carlton had a pretty good idea what that assignment was.

"You want me to take the place of the contractor," he stated. "To infiltrate their kidnapping attempt and stop it."

"Yes," she confirmed reluctantly. "Working from the inside, you'll know exactly what they're planning and how best to circumvent those plans. According to Barrows, he's never met face to face with anyone from Vencom. The first meeting was supposed to happen at the airport this weekend. Our own agents were able to determine that the Vencom operative in charge of this assignment is Daniel Wayne. He's someone you've never encountered before, correct?"

"Never in person," he clarified. Technically, he'd gone up against the man a few times, but never in a way that would allow Wayne to recognize him. "So, I go in as this Badger, let them tell me exactly how they plan to kidnap the girl, and then stop it before it can happen."

"That would be the ideal scenario, yes. We're hoping this will also lay some groundwork for our own negotiation team. Miss Grant may be willing to help us with developing this software if you can keep her from falling into Vencom's hands. So make as favorable an impression as you can."

Carlton internally groaned. The last thing he needed to be worrying about while working an undercover op was being diplomatic. Saving the target's life should be more than enough; why the need to be friendly on top of that?

"I understand, Chief. When do I leave?"

"We have you booked on a flight out in a few days. You'll spend the time until then preparing for your cover. In that casefile is everything we have on the Badger. They won't know any of that information about him, but it never hurts to have all your bases covered. Also, we don't know which of their field operatives will be assigned to work with you. Since you've rarely worked with their West Coast branch, it shouldn't be a problem, but you might want to be ready in case of trouble."

That wasn't a new situation for him. There was always the danger of getting burned while undercover. Usually you had a partner to pull you back out when that happened, but Carlton had been in enough tight spots that he wasn't overly concerned with the idea of dealing with it alone this time.

He glanced over the files for a moment as the chief gave a few more details on the assignment. It all seemed very straightforward. A little too straightforward, maybe.

Closing the casefile, Carlton locked eyes with the chief. "So, why me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Chief, you know what I mean. This assignment is a cakewalk. McNabb could do it blindfolded. So why do you need me on this one?"

The chief smiled approvingly. "Good to see those months away haven't dulled your instincts." She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a few sheets of paper stapled together. "The real reason I'm sending you on this assignment will have to remain strictly off the record. If the Board of Directors knew about this, it would get ugly pretty quick."

"I understand," Carlton agreed, a strange feeling worming its way through him.

Vick gave the papers in her hand a brief glance before passing them across the desk to him. "Have you ever heard of an intelligence group known as Psych?"

"Psych? Sounds like the accounting department's idea of a practical joke."

"I wish. Definitely not a joke, though. They're relatively new to the game."

Carlton raised an eyebrow. "And, by that, you mean _we've_ never heard of them until now."

"Right again. Unfortunately. We actually know almost nothing about them. Only that they're a small group and have been operating under the radar. Possibly for years at this point. The team down in Internal Affairs thought we had a mole at first. Then they uncovered evidence of this Psych group. It appears they have no allegiance. From what we've been able to dig up on them, they seem steal information from all sides equally. Probably to sell to the highest bidder."

"And what does any of this have to do with Lisa Grant?"

"Evidence suggests they're going to make an attempt at Grant as well."

"Oh, perfect," Carlton said, rolling his eyes. "So we've now got three separate agencies after this one person at the same time? That'll be a headache and a half to sort out."

"Well, that's why we're sending in one of our best," she replied, smiling at his frustration.

"You still haven't answered why you chose me for this assignment. Or why the Board would be upset about you telling me this. I'm guessing there's more to this Psych group than what you're saying."

The chief's expression sobered, tone softening just a bit. "Carlton, we think Psych was the group that leaked information about you and Agent Barry being at that warehouse. Given how quickly your opponent cleared out of there, and knew exactly where to find Barry, he had to have been working off intel from within the SBPD. And we were careful with who had the intel on that assignment."

"So, you think Psych hacked in and stole the information, and then leaked it to the kidnapper — this 'Y' maniac — to warn him?"

"Yes. There was evidence found after the fact which leads us to believe they were the ones who stole that information."

Carlton glanced over the pages she'd handed him while turning that over in his mind. There wasn't a lot on the sparse sheets. These Psych operatives were certainly good at hiding their tracks.

His gaze came back up to meet hers. The careful way she was watching him — waiting for his reaction — was all he needed to put back up the mask of indifference he'd been wearing for six months.

"Thank you, Chief," he said, adding the papers to his casefile. He knew how much trouble she could get into over this. The fact that she was willing to help him find closure meant a lot to him.

"One more thing," Vick continued before he had a chance to stand up. She held a file to him across the desk, which he accepted cautiously. "If you're going to be working in the field again, you'll need a new partner."

Carlton stiffened, hands clenching around the file. "I don't think that will be necessary, Chief."

"Well, department protocols state otherwise," Vick responded, tone kinder than she usually used. "I took the liberty of picking out a likely candidate."

At her gesture to go ahead, Carlton reluctantly opened the folder in his hands. The top sheet had a photo clipped to it of the blonde agent he'd spotted in the meeting. His eyes scanned quickly over the most pertinent facts on the cover page.

"Juliet O'Hara," Vick said. "One of our more promising Level Three recruits. She'll be ready for her first field assignment by the end of next week. And since she still needs a senior agent to be paired with—"

"—you thought we'd be a good match," Carlton finished flatly.

"She has good marks in all of her assessment tests so far. I think, with some guidance from a more seasoned agent, she could go far."

Carlton snapped the file shut and dropped it back on Vick's desk. "Chief, I turned in my paperwork on this months ago. I'm not supposed to be assigned any more of the junior agents."

"You used to be the best at training the new recruits. You never gave them the sort of leeway other agents do. It helped keep them on their toes."

"Maybe sometimes they need that extra leeway," Carlton said quietly.

Vick sighed and leaned back in her chair. "It's been six months. I know you and your former partner were... close... but you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"I don't," he shot back, tone hardening. "I blame the monsters who killed her." Standing up from his seat, he added, "And I'm going to make sure they don't get away with it. So, if that's everything..."

Vick eyed him, obviously having a lot more to say on the topic but not wanting to push things right now. "Fine, the decision can wait until you get back from this assignment. Maybe it will help you gain some perspective on all this."

"But, Carlton," she added as he tried to leave the room, "You can't keep working without a partner indefinitely; it's against department protocols. Whether it's one of the junior agents or someone more experienced, you'll need to choose someone. As our Head of Operations, you get more leeway than most in picking a partner — but I'll be forced to take that choice out of your hands if you delay too long."

"I understand, Chief."

With a curt nod, he stepped out of the office.

It wasn't until he was in the safety of his own car, heading for home, that he took a moment to breathe and process everything.

She was right. As annoying as it was, Carlton knew the Board wouldn't sit quietly for long. He'd been hoping for a little more time, though.

He knew every member of Covert Operations rather well. Or, at least, he knew their skillsets and performance records. None of them were the sort of person he could trust to have his back in the field. Or someone he could trust himself to protect, either.

Pulling into his driveway, Carlton shut off the engine and stared at the little house in front of him. It was a nice place with a decent yard and not too far of a drive from work. At the time he purchased it, it had seemed like a worthwhile investment. Now, the tiny two-bedroom place felt much too large.

The door opened smoothly and he deposited his keys on the entry hall table before venturing farther inside. A quick detour through the kitchen to grab a beer, before heading into the living room. Clicking on a lamp, he settled onto the couch to review the casefiles again. Dinner would have to wait. He hadn't been given a lot of time to prep for this assignment.

By the time darkness settled over the empty house, Carlton had thoroughly familiarized himself with the details of his assignment. It really wasn't a difficult op. Barring any unforeseen complications — although he knew there were _always_ unforeseen complications — he should be heading back home by the end of the weekend.

Sliding the last of the case files away, his eyes landed on the last folder in the stack. The one that contained O'Hara's personnel record.

His fist clenched around his beer bottle.

The chief acted as if it was the easiest thing in the world to choose a new partner. It wasn't. Choosing a partner meant picking someone to trust with your life. To trust with your bad days and secrets and personal struggles.

Having a partner meant looking out for each other in a way that no one else could.

He'd thought he had that with Lucinda. That was why he'd kept her on as a partner even after she passed her assessment phase. As one of their junior agents, he knew she still had a lot of areas where she needed improvement. But being able to work together as a team should not have been one of those areas. Especially when taking their personal relationship into account.

His partner had trusted him, and he'd let her down.

Pushing up from the couch, Carlton headed resolutely back to the bedroom to change. He still needed to eat dinner and pack his bags. He had a mission to focus on.

He carefully avoided looking at the stack of cardboard boxes in the corner as he took off his gun, setting it within easy reach. Those boxes that he'd been only partially successful in ignoring for months. The ones that were labeled in marker, with a handwriting much too feminine to be his own.

He finished changing and walked back to the living room, eyes landing on the casefiles as he headed through toward the kitchen. In particular, he took note of that thin file on top — the one containing what little intel they had on Psych.  


A new resolve flowed through his veins, replacing the ice that had been nesting there for six months.

For the first time since her death, he had a lead. He had a direction.

And he was finally going to fulfill the promise he'd made at her graveside.

Whoever this Psych group was, they were going to die a far slower death than they'd given his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed, Grief, "Run!"
> 
> Current tally: 3/31


	2. Know Your Enemy

Another projectile came into view and Shawn swiped at it, barely knocking it away in time. Without pausing, he lunged at another one and then moved smoothly to the next target.

"C'mon, c'mon," he murmured to himself, eyes flying from one object to the next, assessing which ones to go after and which ones to avoid.

He spared a momentary glance to his left — wanting to see how his opponent was faring — and happened to choose the exact wrong moment. His gaze shifted back to see a prime target slipping out of his reach. His hand shot out to hit it before it was too late, and hit the bomb beside it instead.

 _GAME OVER_ flashed across the enormous screen mockingly.

His arms dropped in defeat as a triumphant shout came from the ten-year-old beside him.

"Ha! And you said you were so good at this."

"Hey," he shot back, "I said I was good at _real_ arcade games. Fruit Ninja is not a real arcade game."

The little girl crossed her arms smugly. "Well, you still lost. Pay up."

Shaking his head, Shawn reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of jelly beans. "Fine," he sighed, passing it over. "But I would have creamed you if we were playing Galaga."

The girl took her prize happily and turned to add her name to the new top spot on the leader board. He was turning to leave when she reached out and snagged his arm. "Hey, don't forget to add your name, too. You got the new second spot on the board."

Fighting the urge to recoil away from her hand, he forced a smile. "Nah, that's fine. Let it be blank; it'll add a nice mystery that Fruit Ninja players will wonder about for years to come."

"That's assuming some other ten-year-old doesn't knock your score off the board next week."

"Ouch. That's harsh, kid."

"I still need your name," the girl reminded him impatiently. "Unless it's some huge government secret or something," she added with a scoff.

The smile turned to amusement. "You'd be surprised." She finally released his arm and he let out a quiet breath of relief. "Why don't we just put down Pineapple King and leave it at that? That's my birth name anyway. Had to change it due to some copyright issues."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, at least tell _me_ what your name is. After beating each other at games all afternoon, you know you can trust me with it."

"Okay, kid, you win." He crouched down to her level and leaned in conspiratorially. "It's Shawn."

The small face scrunched in disappointment. "Shawn? That doesn't sound very scary."

A sharp pang tugged at his chest and he patted her gingerly on the shoulder. "Yeah, it doesn't, does it?" Straightening up, he cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for the match. Keep practicing and you'll kill it on Cutthroat Kitchen someday."

With a last farewell salute, Shawn pushed out the side door of the arcade and stepped into the warmth of a California afternoon. Shoving his sunglasses onto his face with one hand, he used the other to fish his vibrating cell phone out of his pocket. He answered without bothering to check the caller ID.

"Yo, boss," he greeted cheerfully, strolling across the street to the pier. "What's up?"

"I have an assignment for you," came the distinctively cultured tone from the other end. "That is, if you're done playing around like a ten-year-old."

"Actually, it would appear the average ten-year-old is better at playing around than I am. Cost me quite a fortune in candy. The agency wouldn't be willing to reimburse that money as a training expense, would they? I have a witness who can vouch for my attempts to improve my skillset."

"Making friends are we?" The voice carried a distinct note of disapproval. "Please tell me you didn't put your real name on any of those score boards."

"Yeah, because a bunch of kids in an arcade are totally going to notify the authorities about the guy that beat them at Donkey Kong," Shawn rolled his eyes. He didn't think the man — despite his rampant paranoia — would actually go after a bunch of kids, but he didn't want to take that chance, either. "Don't worry, I'm not that stupid. Anyway, did you actually have something you were calling about, or were you just wishing me a happy vacation?"

"I'm afraid the vacation is over. Do you think you can pry yourself away from video games long enough for a real challenge?"

"Spoken like a man who has never gone up against Pacman level seventeen."

The long pause on the other end let Shawn know he was approaching the limit on his boss's patience. It was nice to know he could still get under the guy's skin after all this time.

"Fine," he sighed, letting the playfulness drop from his tone. "What's the op?"

"You're about to be contacted by your old 'friend' Daniel Wayne. He's trying to get his hands on some computer geek, a simple snatch-and-run assignment, and is bringing in an outside contractor for it."

Shawn hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against the wooden railing. He smiled as he sighted a bunch of seagulls fighting over discarded food at the end of the pier. There was something so oddly fascinating about those birds; something simple and elegant. He missed watching them whenever he had to be away on assignment.

"Well it's easy to guess why Wayne wants me there. He's never been great at playing nice with the outside help," he remarked. "But what's your stake in all this? I'm assuming you don't want me to just play babysitter on a little milk run like this."

"That's exactly what I want. Keep an eye on things, don't interfere, and report back to me when it's done."

"That's it." Shawn's eyes narrowed. He didn't bother to hide the skepticism in his voice as he added, "You know I can't help feeling like my talents are being underutilized here. You can't hand this off to any of the low-level grunts?"

"Trust me," the smooth voice purred back. "This is way more important than you can imagine."

Shaking his head, knowing he wasn't going to get a better answer than that, Shawn gave in. "Fine, I'll be your personal watch dog on this one. But I expect you to pay for my next bundle of arcade tokens. I don't exactly love the idea of pretending to be Wayne's loyal minion for the next several days."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"Where is all this going down, anyway?"

"You're already there. Agent Wayne will brief you on the details when he calls. Don't screw this up. There's a lot riding on how things go down during this operation." There was a slight hesitation from the usually unflappable man, causing an uneasiness to coil through Shawn's gut. "Be careful with this contractor of theirs, Shawn. Remember, becoming emotionally compromised during an op can be fatal."

Shawn laughed, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched one particularly large bird swoop low over the area. "Come on, when has that ever been an issue with me? I don't do personal attachments."

"This one's different. Do you remember that recon mission in November of last year?"

A chill crawled down Shawn's spine. His fist clenched at his side and he had to force the anger from his tone before biting out, "There were a lot of recon missions that month."

"Don't play games, Shawn. You know which one I'm talking about."

"Then why ask?"

There was no mistaking the warning in the man's response, "So you don't forget going into this assignment. Focus on the mission and nothing else."

The line went dead.

Shawn tipped his head back against the pole behind him as he took in a deep breath. Talking to that man could be more draining than running the obstacle course at the agency's training center. He knew it was common to hate one's boss, but this guy pushed the concept of a stressful work environment to a whole new level.

Finally pushing off his resting place, he pried the back off his cell phone and pulled out the battery and sim card. Smashing the case underfoot, Shawn wrapped the card and a large rock in a rubber band and dropped it over the side of the pier, watching it sink into the foamy water below. Pocketing the battery for his collection, he took one last look at his seagull companions before setting off down the boardwalk.

Regardless of his boss's ominous warnings, this sounded like a nice change from his last several assignments. As long as Wayne's contractor did his job right, this should be easy.

A nice uncomplicated mission for once.

  


~~~~~

  


Unfastening his seat belt, Carlton stood with a slight groan.

He hated plane rides. Especially long ones with too many stopovers. Routing his trip through Chicago had been a painful experience, but necessary to protect his cover. Apparently, the Badger was known to operate around the Chicago area.

Grabbing his carry-on bag, Carlton nodded as polite a farewell to the stewardess as he could muster before disembarking. That woman took her job _way_ too seriously, in his opinion.

The airport itself was surprisingly crowded for a weekday afternoon. He wondered if it had anything to do with the tech conference this weekend. Most of the people milling around did look like they could be computer geeks and business executives.

It didn't take long to spot his contact near one of the gift shops. The man looked exactly like the surveillance photos the chief showed him.

"Daniel Wayne?" he greeted, extending his hand.

The man shook it with a slight nod. "Your flight arrived sooner than expected."

"I grabbed an earlier flight this morning. Wanted to allow more time for briefing and recon."

"Good. We need this to go as smoothly and efficiently as possible," Wayne said. "Come on, I've got a car waiting outside. We'll be meeting with the rest of the team at a restaurant not far from here."

Carlton raised one eyebrow questioningly. "A public meeting?"

Wayne shrugged. "When working with outside contractors, I prefer to have our initial meetings in more open settings."

There was no need to read the between the lines on that one. This guy obviously didn't trust anyone outside his own agency. It was a sentiment Carlton could readily agree with.

"Besides, this meeting site is completely secure," the man continued, leading him towards the baggage claim area. "My cousin owns the restaurant and it will be closed to the public during our meeting."

"Sounds good," Carlton said.

Despite his outwardly casual reaction, he knew how important this meeting was going to be. This was his one and only chance to make sure he got in without his cover being blown. They would either buy his charade and let him in on the op — or he would have to fight his way back out of the restaurant with bullets flying every direction.

An anticipatory thrill ran through him at the thought. This — the unique combination of fear and excitement — was what kept him on his toes and made him less likely to slip up. It was what kept him doing undercover work like this long past the time most agents switch to desk work.

The car ride to the restaurant was uneventful and Carlton found himself scanning the area as they went. The conference center was nearby and he wanted to get a better sense of what this neighborhood was like. In case a fast getaway should become necessary at any point, he wanted to be prepared.

The restaurant itself was nice and somewhere in that gray area between family dining and elegant. There were a few random people and groups at different tables, but not many. Based on Wayne's earlier statement, Carlton could only assume these were all Vencom agents brought in as security for this meeting.

They arrived at a table on the far side of the dining area. It was on a slightly raised platform and situated in a large bay window overlooking the water. It evoked an odd sense of peace and relaxation. A strange contrast to the ugly business they were about to be discussing.

No sooner had they sat down at the table than Wayne glanced at the door with a smile. "Ah," he said. "Here comes the rest of the team you'll be working with." Interested to see what he would be dealing with, Carlton's gaze immediately locked on the group that entered the front door.

Three of the four people were exactly what he would have expected — two men and one woman, all of them wearing the nondescript suits and well-concealed weapons that had become almost pedestrian in this business. They carried themselves as field operatives, which meant they were probably going to be providing backup for the op.

It was the fourth person that drew Carlton's attention. From the faded jeans and beat-up sneakers to the casual posture and smirk, this man certainly didn't scream "top-secret spy" the way his colleagues did. He looked more like someone who had accidentally wandered in off the street. Only the slight trace of outline against his jacket, at the small of his back, gave away the fact that he was packing a weapon.

Agent Wayne stood as they approached and Carlton followed suit.

"These are the agents who will be assisting on this assignment. They will be available to provide backup if needed. We are trying to keep this all as discrete as possible, so it'd be preferred if you didn't have to call them in, but it always pays to be ready."

Carlton shook hands with the three agents, introductions exchanged as they took their seats. His eyes landed on the fourth member of the group again as he sent Carlton a casual wave and flopped carelessly into one of the chairs.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at the man and cleared his throat. The young agent rolled his eyes slightly but did manage to sit up and look at least a bit more attentive.

"And this," Wayne continued with a faint note of disdain, "is Agent Spencer. He'll be acting as a consultant on this assignment. His function will be to offer insight on the target and be a liaison between you and the agency while you're running the op. For obvious reasons, we would prefer to limit direct contact with you until the mission is over and you're in the clear."

"Fine by me," Carlton grunted in agreement. Having limited contact with Vencom would actually make it a lot easier to pull a double-cross on them when it was time to grab the target and get out. If all he had to worry about was a consultant -- and one who looked incapable of posing any kind of real threat — then this would be a cakewalk.

He glanced back over to find Spencer eyeing him curiously from across the table. There was something oddly perceptive in that gaze. He found it unsettling. But then Wayne looked their way and Spencer's eyes immediately landed on the tablecloth, appearing completely zoned out and uninterested in the conversation. Carlton almost believed he'd imagined that brief, piercing stare.

The rest of the meeting went as expected. Wayne explained the assignment and gave detailed information on the hotel Lisa Grant was staying at, as well as any information they already had on her regular activities. Lassiter and Spencer were supposed to stake her out for a few days, make sure what kind of security protection she had, and then make their move at the conference center. The large crowds would hopefully aid in covering their escape.

It was all simple enough. Carlton couldn't foresee any issues with carrying out the mission. Unless Chief Vick had been correct about Psych showing up to throw a wrench in the works.

When things finally broke up, the three members of the backup team said their goodbyes and departed. Wayne ordered one of his bodyguards to bring his car around front for him.

"We also rented you a vehicle to use while you're here," he explained to Carlton, passing him a set of keys. "It's waiting for you in the parking lot." Carlton nodded his thanks and pocketed the keys.

Wayne shot a look at Spencer, who hadn't seemed to be paying much attention during the briefing, spending a good portion of the time staring out the window. "Spencer, you can wait in the parking lot. We only have a few more things to discuss."

It wasn't spoken as a suggestion and Spencer left without protest. There was something about the exchange — something that stood out to Carlton as being off — but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

Wayne ran over a few last points with Carlton before asking, "Do you have any questions before we part ways? We won't be in regular contact again until this assignment is over."

_Actually, if everything goes according to plan, I'll never have to see your face again. Not unless it's through metal bars, anyway._

Carlton pointed toward the door Spencer had exited a few minutes prior. "Your consultant," he said. "He's not exactly the sort of person I'd choose for this assignment."

"Granted, he has had some past... personality issues," Wayne said. "But he's the best consultant we have. He'll learn and remember any case intel you need him to. And he can read a person as if they were carrying their life story on a billboard over their head." He laughed, shaking his head. "Some members of the agency like to joke that he's psychic. To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised. His intuition is scarily accurate."

"And yet you have him running simple grunt-level ops," Carlton pointed out skeptically. "Couldn't help noticing the way you two interact, either. That's not typical handler-to-agent dynamics."

Agent Wayne hesitated. "As I said, there were... personality issues. Spencer used to be a successful freelance operative before working for us, and his independent streak was difficult to curb. He shouldn't give you any trouble, though. One thing we definitely excel at in Vencom is encouraging loyalty in our assets."

That uneasy feeling was back again, and Carlton did his best to shove it away. He didn't know what exactly was going on between this guy and his employee, but it wasn't for him to interfere. He had a job to do, and figuring out Vencom's inter-office politics was not part of it.

He stood and shook Wayne's hand as he pulled out the car keys. "I'll contact you once the op is completed," he assured the man, knowing he'd be long gone before anyone at Vencom even knew what happened. "You can send the other half of my payment at that time."

"Good luck," Wayne said, nodding a last farewell as Carlton walked away from the table.

Out in the parking lot, he found Spencer leaning against a small SUV. It was a fairly generic looking car that would blend into almost any situation quite well. Exactly the sort of vehicle that would be needed for this.

Carlton pulled open the driver's door and climbed inside, glancing over to see the consultant getting in the passenger side. The younger man seemed completely different now than he'd been in the restaurant. Something more relaxed in his posture, and more attentive in his eyes. The half-aware gaze from inside was gone.

"So," Spencer remarked cheerfully, pulling a pack of red vines from his pocket. "I guess we're going to be working together for a few days." He popped a few of the candies into his mouth and offered the bag to Carlton, who turned it down. "Fair warning, it's been a while since I've been in the field. But I hear it's like riding a bike. Also, I'm pretty sure my blood sugar crashes if I don't get enough snacks in my daily diet. Probably. I'd prefer not to take chances on it."

Carlton groaned internally as he started the engine. So much for Wayne's promises of no trouble.

He pulled the SUV out of the parking lot, hands clenching the steering wheel as Spencer shot out another question: "Hey, how do you feel about Phineas and Ferb? Because there's this marathon airing tomorrow night..."

  


~~~~~

  


As it turned out, the hotel they would be staying at was located only a few blocks from the conference center. Their room was decently nice without being fancy. Carlton was surprised, considering the cheap rooms SBPD usually put him in whenever he had to be away on assignment.

Two beds occupied the main area, with the rest of the furniture arranged efficiently in the limited space. Carlton was happy to see that the bathroom was located next to the door, leaving a protective wall between the beds and any possible intruders. Those few extra seconds it would take someone to round the wall could prove vital to survival.

Walking to the far bed near the window, Carlton slipped off his jacket and set his sidearm within easy reach. Not that he expected trouble from the young consultant, but it never hurt to be careful.

He dropped his bag on top of the bed. Flipping it open, he began removing the files Wayne had given him at the restaurant. If they were going to be staking out the target's hotel this evening, he wanted to be fully prepared for any potential issues they might encounter.

A grunting sound from behind made Carlton glance over his shoulder. On the other side of the room, Spencer appeared to be attempting to push the other bed against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

With a final shove, Spencer managed to succeed in moving the piece of furniture. Flopping backwards onto the bed, he released a contented sigh. "Nothing," he responded dismissively. One finger poked at the mattress under him. "Huh. Perfect amount of squishy."

Already done with the consultant's ridiculous behavior, Carlton returned his attention to prepping for the mission.

"So, what am I supposed to call you anyway?"

His hands paused in the process of removing another stack of files from the bag. "Excuse me?"

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Spencer now laying the other way across the bed, stretched out on his stomach with his sneakered feet in the air. He looked as carefree as if they were on vacation instead of setting up for a covert operation.

"Your name," the younger agent clarified. "I'm assuming your friends don't call you Badger around the lunch room."

"We're not friends."

"Semantics. I need something to call you for the next few days. Something tells me 'Mr Badger' is going to get annoying pretty fast — for both of us."

"Barrows."

A tired sigh escaped the consultant as he rolled over onto his back. "No, I meant _your_ name."

"That is my name. I don't particularly care if you approve of it or not."

Carlton pulled the rest of the paperwork from the bag and dropped the bag on the floor, kicking it under the bed. He could unpack the rest later. Right now, he needed to get as much intel on this operation as possible. If Vencom was going to make its move at the conference center, he wouldn't have a lot of leeway for swinging things into the SBPD's favor. And that wasn't even taking into account Psych's mysterious involvement in all this.

Sitting on his bed, Carlton flipped open the first file and began skimming for the most relevant information.

"You really don't look like a Barrows," the irritating commentary continued. "And I'm pretty good at reading people. You were totally lying when you introduced yourself at the restaurant. Hey, if you don't trust me enough to give your real name, that's fine. Just make up something better than Barrows. Please."

A mix of annoyance and curiosity finally made Carlton look up from his work. "Oh? Is that one of your 'psychic' hunches?"

"Your skepticism hurts. I thought partners are supposed to trust each other."

Ice shot through Carlton's veins. "We are _not_ partners." Forcing himself to take a calming breath, he added, "And why is this important to the mission in any way?"

Spencer shrugged. His head tipped back off the bed, staring up at Carlton from upside down. It made the older agent queasy just watching him. "Call it a trust exercise, if you will. Or maybe I just don't like the idea of saying 'hey you' every time I need to get your attention. Look, I'll even start this off. You can call me Shawn."

"Spencer will be fine," Carlton grunted back.

"If you don't give me a name to work with, I'll come up with one of my own."

The teasing tone didn't make the threat any less viable. Carlton had no doubt Spencer was capable of inventing a whole army of pseudonyms, each more ridiculous than the last. And, when he really thought about it, there didn't seem much harm in giving in on this one point. It wasn't as if any of his work for the agency had been under his real name, anyway.

"Lassiter."

The consultant frowned in obvious distaste. "Yikes. I sincerely hope that's your last name."

"If you're done with this pointless bonding exercise," Carlton said, "can we focus on the actual assignment for a while?"

"I'm all yours, Lassie."

"Lassiter."

A dismissive hand waved at the air as Spencer rolled off the bed. He almost face-planted at the sudden change in equilibrium, but righted himself and kept moving towards the kitchenette. "So, what is your genius plan for obtaining our target? Something tells me it won't be as simple as walking up and asking her to join a lifetime membership in our exclusive club of death and destruction."

Carlton felt a swell of anger at the careless way in which Spencer discussed the ruining of an innocent civilian's life. He had to remind himself that this was normal for Vencom. Or most rival agencies, for that matter. They were all heartless monsters who would destroy anything that kept them from their goals — including a brilliant young junior agent with her whole life ahead of her.

"Isn't that what you're here for?" he countered, using his irritation to help cover the genuine hatred he was feeling for this man. "You're the consultant, after all."

"Consultant, not team leader. I'm here to offer constructive criticism, and to make sure you get the job done as quickly as possible. Also, to lighten the mood when necessary. This work can get stressful, Lassie—"

"Lassiter."

"—so you have to learn to relax and unwind whenever you can. Otherwise you end up all uptight and one migraine away from a nervous breakdown." Flinging open the fridge, he pulled out a soda can and kicked the door shut again with a grin. "Which, from my initial impression of you, I'd say you're already halfway there."

Barely two hours into this assignment, and Carlton was already seriously considering putting a bullet in Spencer. He was pretty sure he could come up with a reasonable enough cover story for the chief, too.

Trying to steer his thoughts toward something more productive — and with less potential of getting him fired — Carlton unfolded a city map to get a better sense of the area around the target's hotel. In case anything came up that would require a fast escape, it could be helpful to already know the layout of the streets in that sector.

Unfortunately, Spencer seemed to be physically incapable of remaining quiet for more than two minutes at a time.

"So, I browsed the Badger's file this morning and noticed that you haven't been active for a few months. Doing some deep cover stuff?"

 _Actually, sitting in an SBPD interrogation cell, spilling his guts,_ he thought sardonically. But that wouldn't be the wisest thing to say when trying to maintain his cover. "What's it matter to you?"

"Aw, come on. Have pity on the lowly grunt workers. I never get to do the fun spy work like you guys; let me live vicariously a little bit."

Carlton eyed him, considering his options. This might be a good opportunity to put out some feelers — see if Vencom had any information on Psych that the SBPD hadn't gathered yet. It wasn't likely a low-level consultant would be kept informed of important details, but Carlton knew how easy it was for intel to leak down through the ranks. No agency was completely immune to the effects of water cooler gossip.

"Actually," he said, "I've been doing some personal intel gathering lately."

"Personal, huh?" Spencer flopped back onto his bed, somehow managing to not spill his soda in the process. "That's a bit odd, isn't it? We don't usually do personal vendetta stuff in our line of work. Not unless you're in a James Bond movie. Personal doesn't pay the bills."

"This was a special circumstance." Carlton set aside the map he'd been reviewing, watching the other man carefully. "Have you ever heard of Psych?"

Spencer snorted. "Psych? As in, gotcha?"

"As in, a group of rogue agents who will steal intel from anyone, regardless of allegiance, and then sell it to the highest bidder."

"Ah." Tilting his head to the side, Spencer peered over at him appraisingly. Carlton fought the urge to squirm under that searching gaze. "So these guys burned you and you're after some revenge? Must have been a pretty bad setup, to make you go off the grid that many months."

"You could say that," Carlton bit out. He pushed aside images of blood-stained hands and lifeless blue eyes staring up at him. He couldn't afford to be emotionally compromised on this. It was too important.

"Well, I wish I could help you, but I've never even heard of them. If they've hit Vencom before, it's news to me. Of course, they don't exactly share that kind of information with operatives this far down the totem pole."

It was pretty much what he'd been expecting to hear, but it was disappointing nonetheless. He was desperate for any information on these monsters. Anything that might help him fulfill his promise to his partner.

Spencer sat up, setting aside his drink and focusing his attention completely on Carlton, his expression suddenly far more serious. "Hey, listen," he said softly. "Whatever these guys did to you, I'm sorry. I really wish I had some intel to offer."

Uncomfortable with this unexpected compassion, Carlton nodded and turned back to the mission files, clearing his throat. "Yeah, well, that's not your fault. Let's focus on the mission. We should go to the target's hotel and set up a good recon position, get a sense of how security is set up over there."

"Yeah, sounds like a good plan," Spencer agreed, mood oddly subdued. "Hey, um, I need to make a run to the vending machine real quick. Be back in a few minutes."

"Seriously? You really think you need to be adding more sugar to your system right now?" The idea of sitting on a stakeout for the next few hours with an even more hyper version of Spencer was beyond frightening. "Besides, it's almost the dinner hour. Our target's going to be leaving the hotel soon and we need to observe how they handle the car arrangements." He reached over to the bed and snagged his jacket and sidearm. "We can stop for food on the way back tonight."

A disappointed sigh escaped the consultant, but he grabbed his backpack from the luggage pile and headed for the door anyway. "Fine. But if I pass out from hunger, that's on you."

Carlton rolled his eyes as he followed the younger man out. "I'm sure I'll learn to live with the guilt."

  


~~~~~

  


It turned out his apprehension about this stakeout was unfounded. Other than a bit of restless fidgeting, Spencer wasn't too annoying.

Actually, he'd been unusually silent since leaving the hotel. A few random observations during the car ride over here made up the sum of his conversation. He responded readily enough to any of Carlton's questions about the mission, but didn't seem too keen on chatting about anything else.

It was a stark contrast to his earlier behavior at the hotel, but Carlton had neither the time nor the inclination to dig deeper into it.

"Target is still in her suite," Spencer stated, peering through his binoculars at the building across the street.

They had set up a recon position in an empty, top-floor office in a building across and down a few spots from the hotel. The top of this building was almost perfectly level with the floor of the hotel where Lisa Grant was staying. It was also angled in a way that prevented the sun from interfering with their view of the room.

"Any change in activity in there?" Carlton asked. They'd only been here an hour so far, but the whole purpose of being here would be wasted if she never actually left the hotel.

"Yeah, she's definitely getting ready to leave. Most of the curtains are closed over there, so it's hard getting a sense of what security is like," he added with a frustrated sigh.

"We'll get a better sense of things when she leaves the building," Carlton assured him. "She probably won't have much security anyway. She's a civilian and hasn't been on anyone's radar until now."

"True." The consultant shifted slightly, doing a quick scan of the front of the building before refocusing on their target's room.

Normally, Carlton would appreciate these limited responses. There was nothing worse on a stakeout than a chatty partner. ( _Not partner,_ he reminded himself quickly.) But his real mission here would be easier if he could at least gather a little intel on these people and their operations. Spencer suddenly deciding _not_ to talk his ear off couldn't have had worse timing.

"So," Carlton said, checking his weapon clip. "Daniel Wayne told me you used to be a freelancer before working for Vencom."

Spencer continued to stare through the binoculars, showing no obvious reaction to the shift in conversation, but Carlton was sure he could see the younger agent's jaw clench slightly. "Really," he drawled, tone a little too casual. "Well, Danny has always been a bit of a gossip."

"Oh, yeah," Carlton said dryly. "He definitely struck me as the chatty sort of guy." He finished checking his weapon and reholstered it, eyes scanning the area for any sign of unusual activity. "But I couldn't help wondering why a successful freelance operative would want to start working as a low-level consultant for an agency like Vencom. You can't tell me they pay better than what you made before."

"Wow." Spencer let out a humorless laugh. "Obviously, Wayne didn't feel like sharing the whole story." Lowering the binoculars, he passed them across to Carlton without taking his eyes off the hotel. "Target exiting front doors. Looks like the rich dad is a bit paranoid about his daughter after all. She has a bodyguard."

He didn't miss the obvious change in topic, but decided to allow it. If their target was on the move, then focusing on their current task was the top priority here.

Through the binoculars, it was easy to recognize the young woman from the casefile photographs. Lisa Grant walked out of the hotel with a man, who was probably an assistant, walking beside her. They appeared to be deep in conversation as they approached the waiting luxury car at the curb. Trailing only a few feet behind the pair was another young woman. Short, blond hair, and a concealed carry gun under her jacket. Carlton had to agree with Spencer's assessment — the second woman was obviously a hired body guard.

"So, how do you want to play this one?" Spencer asked.

Carlton lowered the binoculars and glanced down at the consultant. He could tell there was an idea swimming in those mischievous eyes. No matter what Wayne might believe about him, Spencer was not some mindless drone.

"I think we need to keep a tail on the target," Carlton began. "And we need some way of keeping a step ahead of their moves. Any suggestions on how to get a peek at their itinerary?"

Spencer grinned up at him. "As a matter of fact, Lassieface, I do. How do you feel about nightclubs?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts filled: None
> 
> Current Tally: still at 3/31
> 
> (I'll be updating "In Hindsight" next, but then I'll be back with the next chapter of this story.)


End file.
